The Walking by Bentley Little

almost too quickly to see, and even though it was December and chilly, the beach was crowded with wet suited surfers and narcissistic body builders On this side of the highway, the typical assortment of the drunk and the displaced, the homeless and the unemployed, were sitting on broken benches or lying on dead grass in the unmaintained lot that was supposed to be a park.
    Liam walked past the park, past Bunny's Bar, past the alley, to the entrance of the liquor store. He bought a pack of Marlboro Lites, took one of the books of free matches from the open box next to the register, and lit up as soon as he stepped outside.
    He breathed deeply, inhaled. The sun on his face, warm smoke in his lungs. it didn't get any better than this. He looked up, exhaled into the air.
    And tilted his head down to see a squat dirty woman wearing several layers of filthy ragged clothes standing directly before him.
    It was as if she'd appeared out of nowhere, and only the calming influence of the cigarette kept him from visibly reacting. Though he'd never seen the woman before, there was an expression of familiarity on her face, something that made him think she had been looking for him, and he felt the first faint stirrings of fear in his chest.
    He looked around, muscles tensing as he tried to spot anyone suspicious on the sidewalk or in the storefronts.
    The woman pointed an accusatory finger at him. "How many were there?" she demanded.
    He shook his head.
    How many were there? I don't know what you're talking about," Liam said, backing away. But he did. She'd come out of the blue, her words apropos of nothing, yet he understood to what she was referring and it frightened him to the bone. He should have listened to his daughter.
    He never should have left the house.
    He walked around the woman, back the way he'd come. Ahead in the park he could see several raggedy men looking in his direction, waiting for him to approach. There was something threatening in the way they stood, and he turned up the alley, deciding to take a long cut home. He wasn't sure what was happening, but once again he thought of the dam, the town, and he found himself hurrying between the buildings, anxious to get away from these homeless people.
    Halfway up the alley, he almost tripped over a bum's legs sticking out from behind a trash dumpster. He stopped short, and the bum looked up at him, smiling with brown tobacco stained teeth. "Wolf Canyon," he rasped.
    Liam tossed his cigarette and started running. His heart was pounding, and right now he wanted only to get home. A dark shape lurched at him from the back entrance of an apartment complex, and he had time to register that it was probably female before his feet were carrying him up the alley and past the ill-kept backyard of an old house that had been converted into a beauty salon.
    He heard shouts, running footsteps, and he glanced over his shoulder as he ran. Five or six homeless people were following him now, and though his lungs were hurting from lack of breath and it felt as though his heart was going to attack him, he increased his speed. He was embarrassed, ashamed of his fear and cowardice, but he knew his feelings were legitimate. What was going on here made no sense on any rational level, but made perfect sense in the fun house universe in which he'd found himself since receiving that first threatening phone call.
    The increasingly loud sounds of footfalls made him speed up yet again.
    His muscles were straining, and he knew he could not keep this up for any length of time. He burst out of the alley and onto a residential street, the street next to his own, and that gave him an extra burst of energy.
    He did not stop or slow down to see if he was still being followed.
    Though he knew how ridiculous he must look, he ran with all his might, wheezing and panting past well-manicured lawns and spotless driveways toward the end of the block. He did not know why he was being chased or how these street people were